I Need A Road Map
I had this awesome life. I was a wife, mother, daughter, GC (Grandma or Goddess Chris, depending on who you ask) friend, Conservationist, Junker, decorator, gardener and reader. I had hobbies. I went to lunches and outings, I took care of my husband, spent summers running with the GG's (grandgirls). I enjoyed making my own cleaning products, mixing my own seasonings, and practiced what I preached about the environment. Hell, I have 36 Christmas trees, so I defy anyone to tell me it wasn't awesome.
Then in mid-July my husband contracted Covid. Since he was a 12-year cancer survivor, we knew it could get rocky, but after 3 weeks in ICU he just died. He died.
Before I could catch my breath, wipe my face of tears, or even recognize that I was in shock, I was expected to answer questions and make decisions. "Do you have a funeral home"? What the hell. No, I don't have a funeral home, I also don't have a Mercedes dealer on the off chance I win the lottery.
"Who would you like to take the body"? The body? He's my HUSBAND, use his damn name. "Who needs to be notified"? "Do you want a service"? "How are you getting home"? "Are you ok"?
Well. I have to tell you, that last one almost broke me. I could feel myself retreating.
This is my journal, so I am going to lay it all out there, my words, my feelings, my life. And as I don't really expect anyone to read it, I'll be brutally honest.
NO. I'm not ok.
I'm not even within cell phone range of okay. That has to be the dumbest question. I understand it comes from a place of concern. They need to be reassured. Problem is, I've got nothing for them. I know I will be ok, just not yet.
Another question that almost sent me screaming is, "what can I do"? Do? I don't know what I'm supposed to do, now I have to direct other people? I need to breathe. I need to talk to my husband. I need to process that my entire life has changed. He's dead.
See I had this awesome life, and now I have to figure out how to have one again without Mark. All that stuff I mentioned earlier about who I was? I did those things with him. Sometimes he rode shotgun, sometimes I was in the backseat, but he was there. Always there. This is my solo road trip, it doesn't come with a map. I'm just aimlessly driving without lights or direction.
This journal serves as a record for the journey that I never expected to take, but as my husband would say, "get on with it". Yes babe, I hear you, it's just that I still miss you so much. I know I have to move forward, but at the moment I'm only taking micro-baby steps. I got out of bed, what do you want from me?